


Odyssey

by dubberclick



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Heavy Angst, I'm a crackhead, Loss of Limbs, Magic and Occult, Suicide Attempt, aint got all his do dads, but it explores some touchy things, damian gets into questionable things, he struggles a lot, i keep things vague but dami, its kind of dark but it's also 3am so maybe im exaggerating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-07-21 07:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19998361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubberclick/pseuds/dubberclick
Summary: Humans haven't the ability to heal as Wonder Woman or brush off bullets as Superman. Damian had ignored this part of himself for as long as he could. He'd acted as invincible as his partner.As the saying goes:an arm and a leg.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yah so this is my 3am ramble that i thought fuck it and posted. this is more than def getting another chapter cause i wanna explore the fuck outta this. damian has the worst esteem issues out of the entire family and i wanted to explore that character with a situation like losing limbs. and man, this was totally venting but i stayed as in-character as i could. and you bet your asscheeks that i had so much fun when jason came in. _use your stumps_ FUCK im still losing it

In a world of Gods and Monsters- humans were weak. Base of food chains and first to defeat in battles. Some rise above their species’ averages and stain their names in history. They strive, lose and gain- falling only when the time calls. The Waynes and their added family were ones. Bruce Wayne. Jason Todd. Men who stood out and were harder to kill than their kind. Damian wanted to be this, among the special. Wanted to be more. He did. He died.

He might have well this time, too. Humans- fragile things. 

It was one thing Damian hated most about himself and the fate that had decided it. He’d struggled with his heritage his entire life but he hated nothing more than being human. Every broken bone and bruise healed slower than the last. Every bullet and sword did the same amount of damage no matter how he trained or what he used. He had no powers. He’d died due to this weakness and revived only to do it again. Though; he contemplates, he’d come alive better than his previous life- if only for a brief moment.

He knew he couldn’t ignore being human for long. He knew something would catch him, like Bane did his father. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to come back like that. Nothing was ever sure. Not even death.

But  _ this _ ? This- beyond such a simple spine breaking- grayed everything so much more. Waynes were meant to break and heal stronger. How was he to heal from this? A wound that one as Superboy would treat as a pesky knee scrape. Such a minor inconvenience. To a human? Damian would prefer death. If his damn sword could kill him by shredding his insides, why couldn’t this?  _ God, why didn’t this? _

Bedridden was taboo to everyone in Wayne Manor. No matter the injury, each crime fighter would either spend no lick of their time recovering in a bed or would never speak of it. Yes, it should be necessary-  _ Yes, Alfred _ \- but no one of fighting blood had that patience or esteem. Wheelchairs were never taken from their nook as none could bear such a slice to their pride. At least, if they had a choice about it. They usually did.

Damian had no choice. He had no voice in anything anymore. The wheelchair was dusted and shined-  _ erase the evidence of everyone being stronger than you _ \- and left at his bed. The IV, the food tray, the bright red button on his bedside,  _ the fucking piss bottle _ . It all mocked him. His room was no longer his.  _ You failed. You cannot even care for yourself. You can’t even walk. _

He had to laugh. It was  _ hilarious _ . He’d been shown that fighting and killing was the only thing he could do. Every second twisting and swinging was for a purpose everyone saw in his future. How  _ funny _ of them to have been so, so wrong.  _ What future? I’d rather be dead. _

Damian thought the hardest part of his ‘recovery’ would be moving as little as possible. Maneuvering in and out of bed into a chair that didn't even have a motor. Gazing out his window to the streets where he  _ should _ be. That- was far easier than he’d imagined.

The one thing he'd wanted his whole life came back to fucking  _ haunt _ him. Being alone. There was no one at his bedside, no one to have dinner with or keep a simple chat. No one to be silent with, no mindless chatter in the streets or nagging nobles at parties. It was only him besides Alfred and his valued company. Occasionally his father and siblings would visit- especially Jon. Yet the one thing in their line of business was no free time. No socializing unless you were working right next to them. He had no one to talk to except himself. All Damian would get from them is ten minutes of pity and tears and awkward moments. He’d begun to enjoy those minutes because the rest of his life was nothing.

_ That _ was the scariest part. Time to think. Everything he’d done great and poor. All the options and possibilities he has and had. Each thing he could have done that was now impossible. Every life he’d taken and every life he could. About the universe and why it exists. Why  _ he _ exists. Lost. Where can he go?  _ Where can he go if he cant even fucking walk? _

He’d bathe, dress, eat, and sit in the same bed in the same spot. Day after day. One week. Two. A month. Three. He’d sit and watch time pass and everyone find their way. Lost he was. Sitting within four walls and no reason to live. 

In one of the many mindless days, Jason Todd had shown up with a proposition. Not a drop of pity or patience, just expectation. A path when Damian needed it most- when others couldn’t provide.  _ A reason to live.  _

Jason had been a man with a bright future; too, taken away. He’d recovered from death, from against all odds. He’d found his own way against everyone else’s and made a living when he was drowning in fear and hate and confusion. He was the only one who knew Damian’s turmoil. He’d help when everyone pitied and thought,  _ I’m glad that’s not me. _

Damian would accept Jason’s help and expectations even if it meant a darker path. He’d ignore the disapproval. His family abandoned him. The Al Ghuls wouldn’t care about a cripple and the Wayne family simply had no idea how to help. Jason- he would.

Jason did not steer his wheelchair as Alfred and his family did. He did not offer a hand or volunteer any favors. He gave Damian what little control he still possessed- control Damian no longer knew he had. If the youngest Wayne had not lost all his tears in the prior months, he would have then. He hadn’t been expecting a miracle.

_ “Stop looking so pathetic. Get in your chair and follow me. I’ve got somewhere.. and a damn good idea. No, Bruce doesn’t need to know.” _

_ “I know you’re ambidextrous, Wayne, so figure it out. People have pushed themselves in wheelchairs before. Use a stump or something. Would you rather crawl?” _

Jason told him the information that his family not dare speak of. His limbs had been delivered to Joker just as the ones who ripped him apart promised. The clown had made a crude doll with them and hung the puppet in Gotham Stadium. Joker flaunted it. The defeat of another Robin.

Bruce was trying his best to cover every track, having Tim dress up as Damian and act like nothing happened. Don’t want any fingers being pointed or sly little whispers floating around. Gotham was in unrest and filled with terror. Damian figured that’s why Bruce couldn’t spare more than five stressful minutes with him. Too busy and filled with shame. Too embarrassed of his only son crippled beyond independence and himself not being able to simply kill the deranged bastard who keeps ruining his children’s lives.

One thing Damian found he is still good at is throwing away his life. He’d done it while abandoning the Al Ghuls and to the Clarks when Jon had gone off. He was doing it now and the satisfaction far outweighed what little regret he had. Parts of him were gone, but he had means of fixing the damage.

He knew where he would start as well. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after plenty of research on what could possibly enhance humans, this is what i settled on. demons, cosmic power, and parasites just felt to cheesy or required way too much research. i honestly thought of just doing my own version of swamp thing, but im trying to be somewhat serious with this character study.
> 
> chapter summary: oh no

Jason’s ideal location for rehabilitation was a decrepit farmhouse in northern woodland Wisconsin. Gravel roads, mink and deer farms, forests of bears and raccoons and skunks. Damian would nearly be reminded of the Kents’ if not for the steep hills and lack of flowing fields.

Their place was a simple, worn two-story house with an overgrown and dead garden in the backyard. The entirety was surrounded by tall pine and oak and the only path out was a winding driveway about a fourth mile long. The house had damaged roofing and a sun-bleached tan exterior, but it all looked sturdy enough. 

Jason explained it was a place he retreated to when he needed to lay low or recover. It was another thing he and Jason shared- comfort of isolation. Not particularly being alone, just away from common people. Deep within nature with no one to rely on and no one relying on you. The liberation and terror- Damian cherished all of it.

Jason did help with the things Damian had no proper way of doing himself such as taking the wheelchair out from the backseat and locking the wheels. The entire struggle of getting out of a car to a chair with no legs got easier each maneuver, but the chair skid on the gravel driveway and Damian fell. 

Damian bit back a shout and rolled off his stump onto his back, brushing off the pebbles from his sensitive skin. Jason watched with a blank expression, arms crossed and leaning on the hood. Damian grumbled and clenched his teeth and climbed his way into the chair. And pushing himself over gravel with one arm would prove yet another obstacle.

“Didn’t want to give me a break, Todd?” Damian sneers without heat. Jason pushes himself off the car and walks to the old house.

“You’ve had a break for three months.” He throws over his shoulder. Damian stares ahead, then pushes himself to the back of the Jeep and pulls out what little belongings he brought. His swords, minor training and medical items, clothes, and other small things. He piled the duffel on his lap and struggled after Jason. He paused when he got to the three-stair porch. Damian looked up at Jason.

“Now you’re just insulting.”

Jason laughed, “If you think that’s bad, you’ll hate your room.” Todd pointed up and Damian stared at the  _ two-story _ house.

Damian didn’t reply- too many thoughts floating in his mind.  _ You didn’t. You’re a horrible brother. I’d rather go back. _

“I will not be crawling around like a damn...!”  _ Cripple. _ Damian cringed.

Jason didn’t move. “Figure it out, then.” Damian wanted to fight, demand assistance. He didn’t, knowing Jason hadn’t any help- knew he’d have to learn on his own. Even... If it meant humiliating himself past recovery. 

  
  


Finally back in his chair after the displeasing trudge up the stairs, he moved past Jason, “Bastard.”

Jason laughed, following after and kicking the front door shut when Damian managed past the raised bit of the doorway. Meeting them was a barren dining room and an open kitchen right behind. To the right was the living room and sandwiched right between were the stairs leading to the second floor. The only sign that anyone in the last century had been living here were some books and papers on the dining table, old dishes in the sink accompanied by a horde of flies, and sparse and faint blood stains on the walls and carpets. 

Jason tossed his jacket on one of the dining chairs and sat himself in another, propping a foot on the table. Damian rolled the same way and got a look at what was all scattered around on the table which also had suspicious gouges in the wood.

Files of all types; classified and not, scrawlings on torn notebook paper, grease stained napkins with crude drawings, and large leather-bound books conveniently placed under the mess so Damian couldn’t see the covers. Interesting as Jason wasn’t one to sit down and read such material unless important.

“What’s the plan, lil’ bro?”

“Regain my limbs.” Damian replied, looking to Jason. It was his top priority ever since the first week of recovery. So many things had been taken from him just because of three lousy appendages and he needed them back. 

Jason didn’t look surprised, “Yeah, and how you gonna do that? Call Cyborg? Victor Frankenstein?”

Damian scowled. “No. I do not want cybernetic advancements. They’re too easy to manipulate. I’ve decommissioned Cyborg before.” He paused and Jason waited. “I need something harder to lose. Something more connected to me than metal on my skin.”

He looked down to his empty pant legs and just gazed. It was a hefty and troublesome wish with no easy way to acquire. The first option he pondered was his grandfather’s Lazarus Pits but he doubted he’d find any use of those or his bastard ancestor. 

Jason held up his hand and started ticking off fingers. “Lantern rings are too hard to get, the Miracle Machine would be a definite last resort even if you managed to find it, taking any dips in chemical baths during near-death scenarios wouldn’t be a good idea, demons have way too much baggage to ask for help, and anyone with god-like abilities would rather smite you than hear you out. Any other ideas?”

“No,” Damian replied, looking back to the buried books on the table. The dust was unsettled everywhere except there and the papers were pilled just too conveniently. “But I imagine you do.”

Jason didn’t reply but looked to the buried novels. Damian knew he’d hit the mark when his older brother started picking at the material of his pants. Jason didn’t look up, but spoke after a lengthy silence. “How far are you willing to go? Willing to lose?”

The question caught him off guard, but he answered, “As far as I need. I will not live like this, if you can even call it that.”

Jason moved to pick at a scab on his lip instead. “Yeah, figured the Wayne in you would say that. Just let me point out that  _ I _ didn’t even mess with this shit when I was getting back on my feet. Dangerous shit. But funny enough, it’s the easiest way to get what you want if you can pay the price.”

Damian sat quiet, dwelling on the words. He was very much ready to give his everything to gain his abilities back, even if it meant for a price. Even if a man like Jason Todd- with barely anything left to truly lose on this earth- was wary of the costs.

His silence furthered Jason’s monologue as he reached for the large books. “Heard of John Constantine? Enchantress?” He set the worn books in front of Damian and the pieces finally fit. “Magic and occult. Damn near any human can do this shit, but you don’t come out the other end with everything you started with. Honestly, you might end up worse than just limbless.”

Damian stared at the covers, absorbing the words. There were no etchings or titles, just blank covers with ordinary classic designs and embroidery. 

He pushed closer to reach out and Jason didn’t stop him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we gooooooo

Jason didn't stick around for very long. Damian hadn't expected it anyways, knowing his brother to never do one thing at once- as was common of their kind. He'd leave for weeks, come back for days, and leave again. Damian didn't care either way as he had plenty of privacy and a strangely proper internet connection for his newfound studies. And since Jason wasn't around to enforce any rules, Damian had taken nest of the living room. The house was basically his anyways and that room was closest to the front door.

Damian started simple with only research. Both books of Jason's were read and digested quickly and stray notebooks were filled to the brim with sketches and scrawlings. Damian understood the threat of these practices and took utmost care, studying all he could before actually attempting magic and occult.  _ That  _ was also a reason Jason tended not to stay longer than needed.

_ Spent enough time with your crazy mom and gran-pop to wanna see what happens next. Good luck, squirt- food's in the pantry. _

Damian took the slow course of a year gathering knowledge and ethic before attempting anything- even though he desperately wanted to. Modifying his training to combat the threat of muscle dystrophy was a struggle on its own, but Damian found small solaces with growing his own food in the garden he renovated and squeezable mayo. He never appreciated America's laziness more.

Damian couldn't complete his research without the factor of actually practicing methods himself as proper investigation was one's own practice. Each culture and user are widely different- leaving Damian to forge his own path and dabble in all kinds. Limb regeneration was still far away in his quest, but he was on a steady course.

He started small. Telekinetic practice on small objects, lighting candles, turning the lights on and off with only a look, creating globes of light in his hand, changing the color of a candle's flame, and pulling moisture from plants. Each successful maneuver gave him motivation and hope. He even began to form his own style, piecing together parts from religions and cults that made sense. 

Damian had taken his first steps in the magical world and felt he was truly capable of putting his life back together. Creating his  _ own _ life, not one dictated by anyone else. He was his own man. He would rely on himself and no one else. He could finally  _ fight back _ .

By the time he'd gathered the information and courage to attempt organic matter manipulation, three years had passed. He'd barely felt them- far too busy in his own studies. Jason's presence had become a background noise, though he did use his brother whenever he was around.

Since the secluded house was one Jason priorly used to recover, Damian's brother often came injured. Damian stole these times for his practice when Jason allowed it. He'd practice mending flesh and fusing bone, probing for microscopic injuries with only his mind and education- feeling for abnormalities without his hands. Jason was wary and skeptical at the beginning, but warmed up very quickly once he'd seen Damian's skill.

This was one of those times. Damian searched under Jason's mangled skin, trying to find the misplaced nerve in his forearm. 

"Swear you better find the shit soon or I'm gonna throw your cripple ass in the chicken coop." Jason spit, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. Damian laughed, forever amused at his brother's squeamish attitude whenever Damian spiritually prodded him. 

Jason tensed when he finally found the nerve and Damian wasted no time slotting the rogue tissue back in place. He stitched the skin back together, then pulled his presence from Jason. At that, his brother deflated in the chair and Damian let go of his arm.

"God, I fucking hate that. Feels like leeches."

Damian smirked, "Yet you always come back."

Jason stood, flexing his newly healthy arm. "Cheaper than surgery."

Damian was sure that wasn't the reason, but didn't say anything as he followed Jason to the kitchen. His brother pulled a carton of orange juice out and drank. Damian closed the open fridge from where he sat and pulled a glass from the cabinet, hovering it in front of Jason's face.

Jason scowled, knocking away the glass, "You're not gonna catch anything, stop being a prude."

"No," Damian replied. "I want some." The glass moved back towards the carton.

"Oh." Jason said, glancing at Damian before pouring the juice in the floating glass. When full, it pulled towards Damian and Jason watched with eyebrows raised. "That will never  _ not _ be weird."

Damian agreed, drinking. Jason put the carton back, then moved to lean against the counter. "When are you gonna do the lizard thing? Get your parts back? You seem comfortable enough with your juju."

Damian set the glass down. "That's actually what I was going to speak to you about before you vanished. I'm planning on doing it soon. Maybe not tonight, but soon. I want you around if something happens."

Jason nodded, looking at the floor. "Yeah, I'll be here, lil' bro." And after a pause, "It's probably a good thing if you do. Bruce is getting close to guessin' where I hid you. And your buddy made an appearance, too."

"Buddy?" 

"Clark's son. One you used to hang out with."

Damian startled, "He's back?"

"Has been for a while, I guess. Heard he's pretty pissed off that you're gone." Jason shrugged.

Damian didn't reply, staring into space. He'd been so absorbed in his work and kept himself so isolated that he near completely forgot of the outside world. Out of everything he's done, abandoning Jon would be among his greatest regrets. Though, the boy didn't give Damian a choice either when he left to explore the damn galaxy. Still, Jon was a valued friend.

"I see." Damian vacantly replied.

Jason was quiet for a time. "What are you gonna do? If this shit works and you get your shit back, what's your plan? Go back to Gotham as Robin?"

"No." Damian stated. "I'm making my own persona from both my lineages' aspects and combining both parts of my past that shaped who I became."

"Ooh," Jason mockingly cooed, "A rebirth! Edgy, I like it. Whatcha decide on?" 

Damian lifts an eyebrow, but pulls on a notebook from a pile in the living room. It comes around the corner and Damian watches the pages turn, looking for the sketches of his costume design and name. He finds it and moves it towards his brother, letting Jason snatch the blue book from the air. 

"You even colored it! Wait, how?" Jason peers over the metal binding, "I don't have any markers."

"I can change the color of objects." Damian replies, subtly amused at his older brother.

"Wait, you colored this with your juju? That is.. Weirdly cool." Jason touched the drawing, humming. Damian waited as his brother's eyes moved over the pages.

"Reminds me… Did you wear something like this before?"

Damian rolled closer, "The outfit is closely based off my burial attire. I added a belt around the thigh for necessary items, though."

"Damn." Jason hummed, "Looks good, though. You can pull off robes. Got anything made already?"

Damian replied, "No."

"And Lazarus? Funky name."

"My resurrection, even though it wasn't by means of my grandfather's pits."

Jason hummed, closing the notebook and tossing it on the counter behind him. "Makes sense." 

A lengthy pause ticked by and Damian watched the trees sway from out the window. Everything was so quiet and serene in this tucked away house- he can imagine adjusting back to a crime-fighting life will be quite the case of whiplash.

"How are you gonna go about this anyways? Gettin' your shit back?"

Damian moved his hand into his lap, watching birds flutter around on the branches. "I've prepared sigils in the backyard to aid the process. There is no step tutorial or guide, just information on others' experiences. My magic mainly comes from intent, as I've learned. I will something," Damian held his palm out and a flickering wisp of flame hissed to life. The colors changed as he talked. "and it happens- to be put in the very simplest terms. So honestly, I'm acting on an educated guess on what I think  _ should _ occur."

"So, you're just telling me you have no idea what you're doing." Jason deadpanned, eyebrows raised. Damian extinguished the flame.

"Crude, but yes. It's the process for all magic, experiment until something works. Though, it's not as easy as snapping your fingers if you do not understand what you're doing."

"What are the sigils for, then?"

"To aid the process and ensure some protection. In ways, they act as a scope does on a rifle."

Jason itched the back of his head, "Alright.. So what's the key, then? Why can you snap your fingers and light something on fire, but I can't?"

"Plenty of patience and self-reflection, something you wouldn't know very much of."

"Alright, knock it off, nugget." Jason pushed off the counter and moved to the entrance. Damian watched him pause at the door. "Just.. Text me or something. When you're ready."

Damian nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough* you thought this was gonna get happier ? im not done with this poor bastard.

The night of, Damian was a wreck. He hadn't moved much, let alone phone Jason. His mind was pulled in all directions- scenarios and all possible outcomes swirling around him. 

Every single remaining part of him relied on this. He was nothing without mobility- and without mobility, he was without purpose. He thought of his suicide if he failed. He thought of absolute exhilaration upon succeeding. He thought of the limbs' appearances if he succeeded. Would they be fresh and unmistakable as a lizard regrowing a tail? Would there be mottled skin and decreased flexibility?

He'd no idea. Magic was never precise or predictable- even with his intelligence. Jason was correct in his accusation; Damian had only assumptions on what would take place and could only toss a coin for the product.

If he failed, there was no place for him. Others could function through extreme debilitation, but someone of his blood and upbringing would not. Damian would not live his days in a chair, stuck in the past and drowning in agony and longing as everyone else continued and faught and cherished their lives. He'd been able to tolerate these last few years only for the hope of it  _ being _ a few years, a roadblock- not the rest of his life. 

If he failed, he would not say goodbye. He would not venture to his loved ones or prepare a rite. His malformity was shameful and held no place among his blood. It would be better if Damian Wayne had never existed.

Yet.. If he succeeded, his life would be put back in his hands. He'd have meaning and self-worth and prosperity brought back, gift wrapped and set in his palms. He would regain everything he'd lost and would be stronger than he'd ever hoped before the incident. He'd rise higher than his brothers or any human. He would conquer and bring revenge on any who'd wronged him. He wouldn't take his power for granted again.

He thought back to his younger years. His partnership with Jon and the Titans. He could have that back- he could have Jon back, now that he was back on Earth. He could fight along his best friend again, could create more fond memories. He could go back home, reunite with his family. He could hold conversations with Selina and Alfred and fight with his siblings and unearth criminal activity and…

Only if he could create himself limbs. Only if he could overcome these scalding cards dealt. Of now, Damian saw no drawbacks of his practices, but knew better than to overestimate what many have done before.

He'd prepared as much as possible to diminish the chance of failure. Each of his practices were vague and constantly a shot in the dark, but each before had been easy enough to figure out and hone.

Maybe regaining his limbs would be as attainable and he was simply overthinking this. Maybe he'd get his life back with a snap of his fingers and only his depression was making it seem like an impossibility. Maybe his prowess and determination would be enough. 

Only questions and theories would plague him until he attempted it himself. He would remain questioning until he braved an attempt.

And tonight he would. Every day he waited was just a pointless delay. He had the information seared into his brain and the experience to manage such a task.

So, Damian picked up his phone.

* * *

Jason knew something was wrong when he saw a dark patch in the night sky, inky and thick and just above his safe-house. 

Dick poked his head between the front seats from his place in the back, watching the sky. "Uh, you guys have a burn ring?"

Jason replied, "No."

"If it were a bonfire, the smoke wouldn't be that dark or thick." Selena said.

Jason's foot sunk, speeding around the tight turns while his heart climbed his throat. The trees were too thick to see anything beyond the first few and he prayed a deer wouldn't walk into the road.

Damian had called him this morning,  _ I'm starting tonight, _ and Jason had to make a 12 hour trip before sundown. He'd been late by only by three hours, but it already looked like it would be  _ too _ late.

As he turned one of the last corners to the house, he smelled it. Parts sweet like cut grass, smokey like an actual cookout- charcoal. But the underlying bitterness and putrid stench was one Jason understood well. There weren't steaks or burgers burning.

Jason felt an uncomfortable rise of panic seize him. "If that fucking bastard.."

Selena laid a hand on his arm, keeping eyes on the road. She didn't say,  _ It will be fine. He'll be okay,  _ because they knew better than that. Dick leaned back in his seat and cracked open a window, more of that vile smell coming in. 

_ A couple more turns, _ Jason thought.  _ A couple more and then I can beat his stupid fucking ass. _

The tension was suffocating for the last few miles he sped through. Relief didn't even register once he saw the driveway. He didn't feel any better because the smoke  _ was _ from his yard and it was so much worse up close.

He had the car in park and his foot on the ground before it even stopped, leaving deep marks in the gravel. Selina and Dick had the same thought, only a breath behind him. They rounded the corner of the house, dust and torn grass kicked up behind them- and Jason stopped. Selina and Dick kept running, but Jason  _ faltered _ when he saw Damian.

His younger brother laid in a circle of white-charred, smoking grass and parts of his shirt and shorts were mottled with burn holes. No legs continued from the burnt shorts, nor an arm. As Jason's eyes started watering from the black clouds and before Selina and Dick reached out, he heard Damian cry.

Only a handful of times had Jason seen Damian cry- and each was more searing than the last. Damian would never wail, but each gasp, stutter, and choke was heart-breaking. Damian always saw select emotions as weakness, especially tears. 

And there he was, slumped over in a smoldering circle of agony and crying. 

Jason realized Damian had failed. For whatever reason, his brother's plan had failed.

Selina and Dick reached him and Damian only seemed to realize someone was there when they started pulling him from the ashen grass. Jason cleared his eyes in time to see Damian's reaction. A plethora of emotions crossed his face in one second- surprise, agony, longing, anger, shame. Twisting his young features.

Damian ripped himself from his family's grasp and they were pushed back by his invisible hand. Before Damian would let them get back on their feet and try again, a circle of fire erupted around him. Dick and Selina recoiled by the sheer intensity of it, but called for him in desperation.

A sound froze each of them in place, stopping any attempt of communicating- a gasping cry, choked off into a gargle. It wasn't a ring of fire, the entire area was lit.  _ Damian was burning himself alive. _

Jason only felt himself move when Dick threw himself into the blaze. Only then he moved, once fear had put air beneath his feet. 

Damian weighed less, but trying to pull an uncooperative body from intense blazes would take more strength and time than Dick could manage alone. Selina didn't move any closer to the heat, but Jason passed her with,  _ Get him, _ to follow. He threw his hood over his face and barreled into the blaze.

He ignored the initial pricks on his skin, body slamming Dick out of the fray. He blindly reached down and ignored the blistering pain, grasping onto whatever part of Damian and hauled him out as quickly as possible. Jason held back vomit as he felt the skin peel beneath his grip.

Hands grabbed his waist and helped carry them both out. Once his back felt cool air and other hands pulling on Damian, he gave a final tug and ran from the blaze, shedding his jacket and patting out stray flames. His entire body was sensitive and his face ached and stung. He only dared open his eyes when he could feel different textures with his fingers again. The world took a second to get back to him, but he searched for family when it did. 

Selina and Dick wrapped Damian's limp body in whatever clothes they could shed and Dick was lifting their brother into his arms. Dick shot Jason a worried glance and colors hadn't fully registered into his eyes just yet, but he could tell Damian's skin was bright and peeling.

And his eyes.. Were open- gazing into nothing. Damian didn't move or respond, but he was breathing. The flames were shrinking behind the three, safe enough for it to put itself out. Dick rushed their brother's body to the house and Selina put a hand on his arm and led them the same way. 

  
  


It was a haze, when the events set in. Selina had called Alfred to come up with no mention to Bruce while Jason and Dick sat. Watched. Stared at their catatonic, grossly scarred brother and his vacant, wandering eyes.

They'd put him upstairs in a barely-furnished room for his second recovery. Alfred had come with a slew of medical equipment and supplies, but Jason hardly registered him over the suffocating anguish that plagued the house. Alfred, Dick, and Selina rarely left his side, but Jason stayed as far away as possible. Whenever he remembered the peeling, torn flesh beneath his fingers and the hollow face that followed, he retched. He didn't want to see Damian's scars or hear Selina whisper to him.

He left.


End file.
